


Four Times You Read My Mind

by writworm42



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writworm42/pseuds/writworm42
Summary: Based on pinkgrapefruit's lovely soft prompt: " in after the ball(gag) you mentioned them knowing each others thoughts and i was wondering if you'd write something about that?"Brooke and Vanessa take care of each other before season 11 ep 12 airs.





	Four Times You Read My Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkgrapefruit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkgrapefruit/gifts).



> THANK YOU SO SO MUCH TO MEGGIE FOR BETA-ING THIS <3 
> 
> TW for smoking, alcohol mentions
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy! :)

Brooke woke up to the smell of blueberry pancakes, and instantly knew it was that day.

Shit. It was _that day._

The day she and Vanjie would have to get in drag, go to work, and watch themselves lip sync against each other.

“Hey, babe.” Vanessa smiled weakly, looking up from the grill she had been intently dropping perfect, round lakes of batter onto, when Brooke wandered out into the kitchen. She was wearing one of Brooke’s t-shirts, a fan-made gift with _We stan tea sis_ on the front and _Step on my neck_ written in bold lettering on the back. Brooke chuckled a little; she couldn’t tell whether Vanessa was wearing it because she liked the feeling of the fabric hitting her knees, Brooke’s size enveloping her even when she wasn’t actually there, or because she knew her cologne would rub off on it, giving Brooke something to burrow into later that night when they would finally collapse into bed together, wanting desperately to sleep the night off but staring up at the ceiling, unable to.

“The pancakes are almost ready,” Vanessa added, and Brooke nodded. She had expected this; Vanessa loved to cook when she was anxious, and right now the kitchen was choked in a fragile, hyperactive energy that betrayed how fast Vanessa’s nerves were building. Brooke stifled the urge to go and help the younger queen, instead opting to go and sit at the table; right now, Vanessa needed the win, needed the sense of accomplishment. Needed to feel like she could do things on her own.

She slid Brooke her plate in silence before sitting down in the chair opposite, stony-faced and lost in thought.

The first time Vanessa had ever made Brooke blueberry pancakes was the morning after a particularly bad performance for Brooke, one where she’d landed wrong coming out of a shoulder stand and sprained something in her neck, the pain bad enough that she’d been afraid she would be out of the game for weeks. And she wasn’t in Toronto any more; there would be bills to pay without insurance, and if she didn’t work, she didn’t have a safety net to fall back on. So she’d sat in bed with a heat pack slung onto herself, scouring YouTube for the least sketchy DIY-massage tutorials she could find, when Vanessa slid into bed beside her, a tray of pancakes with a side-bowl of maple syrup in her hands.

“This is real Canadian syrup?” Brooke remembered how wide her eyes had gotten when she poured the syrup over her food, the slow, sticky pace of its crawl down from the bowl betraying its origins.

“Just like mama used to make.” Vanessa had smiled softly while her warm hands replaced the heat-pack and gently worked the muscles underneath.

To this day, Brooke had no idea where Vanessa had gotten the maple syrup, or how she’d known that blueberry pancakes had always been her favourite comfort food.

What she _did_ know, coming back to reality, though, was that Vanessa wouldn’t talk first, not in her current state; so Brooke filled the silence for her.

“So you’ll never guess what happened on _Real Housewives_ last night.”

\--

They had to be at work for seven o’clock that night, which meant their day had to start at two, gathering their outfits and rehearsing their numbers, trying to get themselves into the headspace for the viewing party, thinking up back-up one-liners to say in case they got caught off guard by the crowd, by what they knew they were going to see. Brooke had written out her cue cards last night, and had slidden the back-ups for Vanessa into her garment bag, cards that only read _you’re one funny bitch_ and _we all love you no matter what_ and _when all else fails, hold my hand._

You couldn’t plan out Vanjie; Brooke had made Vanessa try, back in the early days of their relationship, when the manifestations of their anxieties had clashed and Brooke had become desperate for control. But the results had been disastrous, and she had long since accepted that Vanessa was best when she was free, affirmed rather than controlled. So affirm she did, with a couple of extra makeup-remover wipes thrown in just in case Vanessa cried during commercial breaks.

\--

“It’s not your fault, Brock.”

Brooke didn’t ask what Vanessa meant. They had been driving along in silence, the early-summer sun only just beginning to wane, each of them dreading their destination more intensely with every passing block.

“I’m serious. You wasn’t the one who put me in the bottom. And it was your job to send me home. I’m glad you did.”

“You’re glad I stopped you from being able to have your dream?” Brooke didn’t mean to snap, and regretted it instantly, taking her eyes off the road only for a second to see Vanessa’s stricken face.

But the small queen recovered quickly, her voice even as she continued, “I lip synced twice before we did. I wanted to fight to stay. I was ready to fight to stay. You fought me. I wasn’t gonna accept any other losin’ than that.”

“But you didn’t have to fight--”

“You wasn’t the one who made that choice. We both knew it was gonna happen. Mama Ru ain’t stupid. Tonight’s gonna make the ratings go wild.” Vanessa sighed. “I’m serious, baby. I didn’t wanna go home, but I know you didn’t wanna send me neither. I’m not mad that you did. If it wasn’t me it was gonna be you, then I’d be feelin’ the same way.”

“God, I don’t want to do this.” the car rumbled to a slow stop, this last red light and a left turn the only thing that separated them from the point of no return. Not for the first time since getting into the car, Brooke wondered how many free tequilas she could sneak from the bar tonight before Vanessa would cut her off; Vanessa was taking her turn designated-driving home tonight anyway, so it wasn’t like Brooke had any reason not to get smashed.

Of course, she knew that Vanessa would think differently.

“We gotta.” Vanessa’s voice was hollow, but Brooke knew she was right. The light turned green, and Brooke rolled into the intersection cautiously but automatically, anxious to get it over with.

They pulled up towards the bar.

Brooke kept driving.

Vanessa was already jamming numbers into her phone.

“Hey, Silk? I need a favour.”

\--

They were incredibly lucky that Silky was in town that night, and even luckier that she was able to wrangle a local queen into subbing for Brooke and Vanessa with her, too. The fans would be disappointed, and there would be plenty of them who would clock their cover-story about Brooke having the stomach flu, but they had both logged out of social media for the night, setting their phones to ‘do not disturb’ to ward off any concerned texts from the other queens.

It was funny; the last time Vanessa had been sent home from the show, Brooke had been the one to message her and make sure she was okay. This time around, she was sitting on their couch with the Vanessa’s head on her lap, running gentle fingers through her hair and humming one of the Puerto Rican queen’s favourite songs under her breath. Vanessa had always been surprised that Brooke knew the lyrics to Sea of Love, let alone that it was a song that always calmed her down. For some reason, Brooke had never wanted to tell Vanessa that she knew because she had walked in on Vanessa after a loud fight with her mom, looping the song off of the _Juno_ soundtrack from underneath a pile of blankets, her phone tossed to the other side of the couch and a box of tissues beside her, every fibre of her being exuding the need to be alone for a little while. Maybe it was because she didn’t want Vanessa to be embarrassed; maybe she just liked the feeling of having her own secret knowledge, too.

“Your hands are shakin’,” Vanessa pushed herself up off of Brooke’s lap, her face level with the taller queen’s, the smell of her cologne spicy and heavy, “You need a cigarette?”

Vanessa hated that Brooke smoked. Always told her she tasted gross after coming back inside with the tobacco lingering on her tongue, always half-joked that she was already dating an old man and that she didn’t need one who was also on oxygen by the time he hit forty.

Brooke supposed that on nights like this one, Vanessa knew when to back off. Brooke nodded, and Vanessa followed her out onto the balcony.

“You’re not a failure, you know.” Brooke yanked the carton out of Vanessa’s grabbing reach, noticing the look that Vanessa was giving her as she slipped a cigarette into her mouth, one of a man looking for easy comfort. Far better to give it to her with the words she actually needed to hear, even if she didn’t think she deserved to.

“I failed _twice._ Mama Ru gave me two chances, and I ain’t even win no challenges before I blew ‘em.” Vanessa snorted, frowning. Brooke lit her cigarette and, in a flash of stupidity or genius, she wasn’t sure which, passed it down to Vanessa. Just like she thought, Vanessa screwed up her nose instinctively and refused to take it. Brooke smiled.

“See, you haven’t given up on yourself yet. You know it, too.”

“Know what?” Vanessa rolled her eyes.

“That you’re not a failure.” Brooke shrugged. “I wouldn’t have messaged you that first time if I thought that was true. Hell, I wouldn’t have even given you the time of day if I did, let alone be standing here with you.”

Despite herself, Vanessa began to laugh, low and breathy. “You really do always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you.” Brooke smiled, bringing the cigarette away from herself long enough to pull Vanessa close and kiss her, laughing a little against the sour pucker Vanessa’s lips formed at the taste.

“Now,” she turned to put the cig out, still holding Vanessa lightly around the waist, “Should we Ubereats in some Popeye’s, get into bed, and watch _The Notebook?_ ”

“Shit.” Vanessa laughed, already dragging Brooke inside. “It’s like you know how to read my mind.”


End file.
